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',  M~-  /^^^^ 


^^ 


BOSTON. 

De  Wolfe, FisKE  &  Co. 


(tlevelan&'e  Serena^c. 

T"  OVE  wakes  and  weeps 
-^-^       WMle  beauty  sleeps!    ^  ^^, 
O  for  Music's  softest  numbers     <*^p   ^m 
To  prompt  a  theme,         ^kM^^^ 
For  Beauty's  dream,         /^..^f^ 


Soft  as  the  pillow  of  her  slumbers!        ^x 


Thro'  groves  of  palm 

Sigh  g-ales  of  balm. 
Fire-flies  on  the  air  are  wheeling; 

While  thro'  the  gloom 

Comes  soft  perfume, 
The  distant  beds  of  flowers  revealing. 

O  wake  and  live ! 

No  dream  can  give 
A  shadow'd  bliss,  the  real  excelling: 

No  longer  sleep, 

From  lattice  peep. 
And  list  the  tale  that  love  is  telling! 


Ibave,  Zbcn,  Zb^  IHIlleb! 


HAVE,  then,  thy  wish!"-He  whistled  shrill, 
And  he  was  answer'd  from  the  hill; 
Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew. 
From  crag"  to  crag  the  signal  flew.         _^^ 
Instant,  through  copse  and  heath  arose 
Bonnets,  and  spears,  and  bended  hows; 
On  right,  on  left,  above,  below. 
Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe; 
From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start. 
The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart, 
The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand  ^ 

Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand. 
And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 
To  plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife.  ^^^>     - 
That  whistle  garrison'd  the  glen        -^^Z^A 
At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men, 
As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 
A  subterranean  host  had  given. 
Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will 
All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still. 
Like  the  loose  crags,  whose  threatening  m£|,ss 
Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass, 
As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 
Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge. 
With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 
Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 
The  Mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 
Along  Benledi's  living  side. 
Then  fixed  his  eye  and  sable  brow 


Full  on  Fitz-James:— "How  say'st  tlion  now? 
These  are  Clan- Alpine's  warriors  true; 
And,  Saxon,— I  am  Roderick  Dhu !  " 

Fitz-James  was  brave :— Though  to  his  heart 

The  life-blood  thrill'd  with  sudden  start, 

He  manned  himself  with  dauntless  air, 

Return'd  the  chief  his  haughty  stare, 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore. 

And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before:— 

"Come  one,  come  all!  this  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I." 

Sir  Roderick  mark'd,^and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 

In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel. 

Short  space  he  stood;— then  waved  his  hand: 

Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band; 

Each  warrior  vanish'd  where  he  stood, 

In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood; 

Sunk  brand,  and  spear,  and  bended  bow, 

In  osiers  pale,  and  copses  low; 

It  seem'd  as  if  their  mother  Earth 

Had  swallow'd  up  her  warlike  birth. 

N  '  —The  Lady  of  the  bake. 


i^  V 


>f 


flobfcen. 


'^^,^ 


AND  why  stands  Scotland  idly  now, 
Dark  Flodden!  on  thy  airy  brow, 
Since  England  gains  the  pass  the  while. 
And  struggles  through  the  deep  defile? 
What  checks  the  fiery  soul  of  James  ? 
Why  sits  that  champion  of  the  dames 

Inactive  on  his  steed, 
And  sees  between  him  and  his  land, 
Between  him  and  Tweed's  southern  strand. 
His  host  Lord  Surrey  lead? 
What  'vails  the  vain  knight-errant's  brand? 

— O,  Douglas,  for  thy  leading  wand! 

Fierce  Randolph  for  thy  speed ! 
O  for  one  hour  of  Wallace  wight. 
Or  well-skilled  Bruce  to  rule  the  fight, 
And  cry,— "Saint  Andrew  and  our  right!" 
Another  sight  had  seen  that  morn. 
From  Fate's  dark  book  a  leaf  been  torn, 
And  Flodden  had  been  Bannockbourne  !— 
The  precious  hour  has  pass'd  in  vain. 
And  England's  host  had  gained  the  plain: 
Wheeling  their  march,  and  circling  still, 
Around  the  base  of  Flodden  hill. 

— iuTarmion. 


^be  Xaet  flDinetrcl 


THE  way  was  long-,  tlie  wind  was  cold, 
The  Minstrel  was  inArm  and  old; 
His  withered  cheek,  and  tresses  gray 
Seem'd  to  have  known  a  better  day ; 
The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 
The  last  of  all  the  Bards  was  he. 
Who  sung"  of  Border  chivalry;      "^^ 
For,  welladay!  their  date  was  fled, 
His  tuneful  brethern  all  were  dead 
And  he,  neglected  and  oppress'd, 
Wish'd  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest. 
No  more  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 
He  caroll'd  light  as  lark  at  morn; 
iSTo  longer  courted  and  caress'd. 
High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest. 
He  pour'd,  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 
The  unpremeditated  lay: 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone:. 
A  stranger  flll'd  the  Stuarts'  throne; 
The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 
Had  call'd  his  harmless  art  a  crime. 
A  wandering  Harper,  scorn'd  and  poor, 
He  begg'd  his  bread  from  door  to  door. 
And  tuned  to  please  a  peasant's  ear. 
The  harp  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

—{The  Lay  of  the  Laat  Minstrel. 


Xeee  (fbcvv^  I0  tbe  ]fa&ing  Xeaf. 

T"  ESS  merry,  perchance,  is  the  fading  leaf, 

-^—^       That  follows  so  soon  on  the  g-ather'd  sheaf. 

When  the  g-reenwood  loses  the  name ; 
Silent  is  then  the  forest  bound, 
Save  the  redbreast's  note,  and  the  rustling  sound 
Of  frost-nipt  leaves  that  are  dropping  round. 
Or  the  deep-mouth'd  cry  of  the  distant  hound 

That  opens  on  his  game: 
Yet  then,  too,  I  love  the  forest  wide, 
Whether  the  sun  in  splendor  ride,     ji 
And  gild  its  many-color'd  side; 
Or  v/hether  the  soft  or  silvery  haze, 
In  vapory  folds  o'er  the  landscape  strays, 
And  half  involves  the  woodland  maze. 

Like  an  early  widow's  veil. 
Where  wimpling  tissue  from  the  gaze 
The  form  half  hides,  and  half  betrays. 

Of  beauty  wan  and  pale. 

—^fiarold  the  '^auntleae. 


/ 


Burnt)  nDarmton'0  Swartb?  Cbeeft. 

T3URN''D  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  flre, 
J— -^       And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

^      And— "This  to  me!"  he  said— 
'An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head! 
And,  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  Peer, 
He,  who  does  England's  message  here, 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state. 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  he  thy  mate: 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

Even  in  thy  pit^ch  of  pride. 
Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 
(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord. 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword,) 

I  tell  thee  thou'rt  defied! 
And  If  thou  saidst  I  am  not  peer  ^/ 

To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here. 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied! 
On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age: 
Fierce  he  broke  forth,— "And  darest  thou,  then, 

To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall? 


And  hopest  tliou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ?— 

No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Both  well,  no ! 

Up  drawbridge,  grooms—  what,  Warder,  ho! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." 
Lord  Marmion  turn'd,— well  was  his  need, 
And  dash'd  the  rowels  in  his  steed. 
Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung, 
The  ponderous  gate  behind  him  rung: 
To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bar^,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

— d^Tarmicn. 


Song. 


WHERE  shall  the  lover  rest, 
Whom  the  fates  sever, 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast, 
Parted  forever? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high, 

Sounds  the  far  billow. 
Where  early  violets  die, 
Under  the  willow 


There,  through  the  summer  day, 

Cool  streams  are  laving; 
There,  while  the  tempests  sway, 

Scarce  are  houghs  waving; 
There,  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

Parted  forever, 
Never  again  to  wake,         ^^ 

Never,  O  never! 


^ 


Where  shall  the  traitor  rest,      ^(t~ 

He,  the  deceiver, 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast. 

Ruin,  and  leave  her  ? 
In  the  lost  battle. 

Borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

With  groans  of  the  dying. 


Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  flap 

O'er  the  false-hearted ; 
His  warm  blood  the  wolt  shall  lap, 

Ere  life  be  parted. 
Shame  and  dishonor  sit        -^..^j, 

By  his  grave  ever. 
Blessing  shall  hallow  it,— 

Never,  O  never! 


^be  IRoee.  ^N.6' 


"\^ 


THE  rose  is  fairest  wlien  'tis  bTidding"  new, 
And  hope  is  brightest  when  it  dawns  from  fears ; 
The  rose  is  sweetest  wash'd  with  morning  dew, 
And  love  is  loveliest  when  embalmed  in  tears. 

0  wilding  rose,  whom  fancy  thus  endears, 

1  hid  your  blossoms  in  my  bonnet  wave. 
Emblem  of  hope  and  love  through  future  years !  " 
Thus  spoke  young  ISTorman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
What  time  the  sun  arose  on  Vennacher's  broad  wave. 

—^he  Lady  of  the  Lake. 


SoI61er'0  Sonfl. 

OUR  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  Poule 
Laid  a  swinging  long  curse  on  the  bonny  brown 
bowl. 
That  there's  wrath   and   despair  in  the   bonny 

black-jack, 
And  the  seven  deadly  sins  in  a  flagon  of  sack ; 
Yet  whoop,  Barnaby!  off  with  thy  liquor. 
Drink  upsees  out,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar! 

Our  vicar  he  ealls  it  damnation  to  sip 

The  ripe  ruddy  deAV  of  a  woman's  dear  lip, 

Says  that  Beelzebub  lurks  in  her  kerchief  so  sly. 

And  ApoUyon  shoots  darts  from  her  merry  black  eye. 

Yet  whoop,  Jack !  kiss  Gillian  the  quicker. 

Till  she  bloom  like  a  rose,  and  a  flg  for  the  vicar! 

—The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 


In  tbe  lO0t  Battle. 


"V'TT"ITH  fruitless  labor,  Clara  bound, 
VV       And  strove  to  standi  tbe  gushing-  wound; 
Tbe  Monk,  with  unavailing  cares, 
Exhausted  all  tbe  Church's  prayers. 
Ever,  he  said,  that,  close  and  near, 
A  lady's  voice  was  in  bis  ear. 
And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  bear. 

For  that  she  ever  sung, 
"In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  the  flying. 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle  with   groans  of  the 
dying!" 

So  the  notes  rung;— 
"Avoid  thee.  Fiend!— with  cruel  hand, 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand!— 
O,  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine ; 

O,  think  on  faith  and  bliss!— 
By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen. 

But  never  aught  like  this."— 
The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale. 

And  STANLEY!  was  the  cry; 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread. 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye; 
With  dying  hand  above  his  head. 
He  shook  the  fragments  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "Victory!— 
Charge,  Chester,  charge!  On,  Stanley,  on!" 

Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 


-^o 


?.  Moman!  Hn  ®ur  Iboure 
of  fiasc. 

Woman!  in  our  hours  of  ease, 

Uncertain,  coy  and  hard  to  please, 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering-  aspen  made; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou!— 
Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said. 
When,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran: 
Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs  and  fears; 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears. 

Sees  but  the  dying  man. 
She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  side, 

But  in  abhorrence  backward  drew ; 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark  red  tide 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn?  behold  her  mark 

A  little  fountain  cell, 
Where  water,  clear  as  diamond-spark, 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half- worn  letters  say, 


For  the  kind  soul  of  Sybil  G-rey, 
Who  built  this  cross  and  well. 


She  filled  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied, 
And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

A  monk  supporting  Marmion's  head : 
A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought, 

To  shrieve  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 

— dTTarmion. 


Xuc^  Hebton'a  Song. 

LOOK  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming,— 
Sit  thou  still  when  kings  are  arming,— 
Taste  not  when  the  wine-cup  glistens,— 
Speak  not  when  the  people  listens,— 
Stop  thine  ear  against  the  singer,— 
From  the  red  gold  keep  thy  finger,— 
Vacant  heart  and  hand  and  eye, 
Easy  live  and  quiet  die. 

— ^he  oBride  of  l/cunmermocr. 


^be  Staa  at  five  1ba^  Drunh 
Ibis  ifill. 


THE  Stag-  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill, 
And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 
In  lone  GMenartney's  hazel  shade; 
But,  when  the  sun  his  heacon  red 
Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head. 
The  deep-mouth'd  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 
Resounded  up  the  rocky  way,  m 

And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne. 
Were  heard  the  clanging"  hoof  and  horn. 


As  Chief,  who  hears  his  warder  call, 

"To  arms!  the  foemen  storm  the  wall,' 

The  antler'd  monarch  of  the  waste  '*^v  "Cijk 

Sprung  from  his  heathery  couch  in  haste.    ^^ 

But,  ere  his  fleet  career  he  took, 

The  dew-drops  from  his  flanks  he  shook; 

Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high, 

Toss'd  his  beam'd  frontlet  to  the  sky; 

A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 

A  moment  snuff'd  the  tainted  gale, 

A  moment  listen'd  to  the  cry, 

That  thicken'd  as  the  chase  drew  nigh ; 

Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appear'd, 

With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  clear'd, 

And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far. 

Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var. 

— The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 


Sol&ter,  IReetl 

**QjOLDIER,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er, 

^       Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking; 
Dream  of  "battle  fields  no  more, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall. 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing, 
Fairy  strains  of  music  fall,      ^r^^"*"*^''^, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing,     "^^^ti;, 
Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er, 
Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more : 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking. 
Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. 

"No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear, 

Armor's  clang,  nor  war-steed  champing,  \^^ 
Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here  'A 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping :    // 
Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come 

At  the  daybreak  from  the  fallow, 
And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum. 

Booming  from  the  sedgy  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near, 
Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here ; 
Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 
Shouting  clans,  or  squadrons  stamping." 

— ^he  Lady  of  the  bake. 


^be  flDornlng  fiDtets. 

rinHE  morning'  mists  rose  from  the  ground 
-L        Eacli  merry  bird  awaken' d  round, 

As  if  in  revelry ; 
Afar  the  bugles'  clanging  sound 
Call'd  to  the  chase  the  lagging  hound; 

The  gale  breathed  soft  and  free 
And  seem'd  to  linger  on  its  way 
To  catch  fresh  odors  from  the  spray, 
And  waved  it  in  its  wanton  play 

So  light  and  gamesomely. 
The  scenes  which  morning  beams  reveal, 
Its  sounds  to  hear,  its  gales  to  feel 
In  all  their  fragrance  round  him  steal, 
It  melted  Harold's  heart  of  steel. 

And,  hardly  wotting  why. 
He  doff'd  his  helmet's  gloomy  pride, 
And  hung  it  on  a  tree  beside. 

Laid  mace  and  falchion  by, 
And  on  the  greensward  sate  him  down, 
And  from  his  dark  habitual  frown 

Relax'd  his  rugged  brow— 
Whoever  hath  the  doubtful  task 
From  that  stern  Dane  a  boon  to  ask. 

Were  wise  to  ask  it  now. 

^JHfarold  the  ^aunilesv 


^ 


Ibarp  of  tbe  mortb. 

HARP  of  the  North,  farewell  1  the  hills  grow  dark, 
On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descending; 
In  twilight  copse  the  glow-worm  lights  her  spark, 
The  deer,  half-seen,  are  to  the  covert  wending. 
Resume  thy  wizard  elm!  the  fountain  lending. 
And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  minstrelsy ; 
Thy  numbers  sweet  with  nature's  vespers  blending, 

With  distant  echo  from  the  fold  and  lea, 
And  herd-boy's  evening  pipe,  and  hum  of  housing  bee. 


Harkl  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire,       ;^, 
Some  spirit  of  the  air  has  waked  thy  string !      ^^^* 
'Tis  now  a  seraph  bold,  with  touch  of  fire,  ^/^m    i  \^ 

'Tis  now  the  brush  of  Fairy's  frolic  wing         '  ^V 
Receding  now,  the  dying  embers  ring 
Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell, 
And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 
A  wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell— 
And  now,  'tis  silent  all !— Enchantress,  fare  the  well  I 

—T^he  badtf  of  the  Lake. 


U^  Coronacb. 

"FT'E  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 
-^ — *-  He  is  lost  to  tlie  forest, 

Like  a  summer-dried  fountain, 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 
The  font,  reappearing. 

From  raindrops  shall  borrow,  ^ 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering-. 

To  Duncan,  no  morrow! 


The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary, 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Wails  manhood  in  glory. 
The  autumn  winds  rushing 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest, 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing. 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi,  ^^f  ~-'^^:  ^'l-oC\ 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber,     '        ^^i^-**.- 
Red  hand  in  the  foray. 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber! 
Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain. 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river. 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain. 

Thou  art  gone,  and  forever ! 

—'The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 


autumn  Beparte. 

AUTUMN  departs— "but  still  his  mantle's  fold 
Rests  on  the  grove  of  noble  Somerville, 
Beneath  a  shroud  of  russet  dropp'd  with  gold 
Tweed  and  his  tributaries  mingle  still; 
Hoarser  the  wind,  and  deeper  sounds  the  rill, 
Yet  lingering  notes  of  sylvan  music  swell, 
The  deep-toned  cushat,  and  the  red-breast  shrill; 
And  yet  some  tints  of  summer  splendor  tell 
When  the   broad   sun    sink^   down   on  Ettrick's 
western  fell. 


Deem'st  thou  these  sadden'd  scenes  have  pleasure 

still, 
Lovest  thou  through  Autumn's  fading  realms 

to  stray, 
To  see  the  heath-flower  wither'd  on  the  hill, 
To  listen  to  the  wood's  expiring  lay. 
To  note  the  red  leaf  shivering  on  the  spray, 
To  mark  the  last  bright  tints  the  mountain  stain, 
On  the  waste  fields  to  trace  the  gleaner's  way. 
And  moralize  on  mortal  joy  and  pain?— 
O !  if  such  scenes  thou  lovest,  scorn  not  the  minstrel 

strain.  ^ 

■The  Lord  of  the  hies. 


^T 


Sonfl, 


ryiHE  heath  this  night  must  "be  my  bed 
The  bracken,  curtain  for  my  head, 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread, 

Far,  far  from  love  and  thee,  Mary; 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid, 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid. 
My  vesper  song,  thy  wail,  sweet  maid  I 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary! 
I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now 


The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow 
I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow,     "'''*^ 

And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary. 
No  fond  regret  must  Norman  know; 
When  bursts  Clan-Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow. 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary. 


A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught. 
For,  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought. 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying,  thought 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary. 
And  if  returned  from  conquer'd  foes. 
How  blithely  will  the  evening  close, 
How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose, 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary! 

—The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 


Zbc  flDoon  in  Iber  Summer  (Blow. 


r  I  ^HE  Moon  is  In  her  summer  glow, 
-L        But  hoarse  and  high,  the  "breezes  blow, 
And,  racking  o'er  her  face,  the  cloud 
Varies  the  tincture  of  her  shroud; 
On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tee's  stream, 
She  changes  as  a  guilty  dream. 
When  Conscience,  with  remorse  and  fear, 
Goads  sleeping  Fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seems  now  the  blush  of  shame, 
Seems  now  fierce  anger's  darker  flame. 
Shifting  that  shade,  to  come  and  go. 
Like  apprehension's  hurried  glow; 
Then  Sorrow's  livery  dims  the  air. 
And  dies  in  darkness,  like  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  woodland  Tees, 
Then  from  old  Baliol's. tower  looks  forth, 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north, 
Hears,  upon  turret-roof  and  wall. 
By  flts  the  plashing  rain-drop  fall. 
Lists  to  the  breezes'  boding  sound, 
And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  round. 

— ^he  Lady  of  the  Lake. 


So  f  ltt0  tbe  MorI&'6  TUncertatn 
Span ! 


So  flits  tlie  world's  uncertain  span! 
Nor  zeal  for  God,  nor  love  for  man, 
GUves  mortal  monuments  a  date 
Beyond  the  power  of  Time  and  Fate. 
TtLe  towers  must  share  the  builder's  doom; 
Ruin  is  theirs,  and  his  a  tomh: 
But  better  boon  benignant  Heaven 
To  Faith  and  Charity  has  given. 
And  bids  the  Christian  hope  sublime 
Transcend  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time. 

^^s-  — Rokeby. 


rKssc 


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